Thames Darrell III. Mrs. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. ” “And you?” “Rather!” “I wonder why?” “There’s no why.
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